My Mom and I Waited for Calamity

Mother’s dead five years today. The ache is dulled, but there. I feel it should be an eternal darkness over my soul as a justice to her and to atone for my flaws. Why did it end this way?
We worried about each other always. My mom fretted if I stayed at the pool after dark lest someone come molest me. The gazebo they built out at the back of our complex, she begged me not to go lest someone molest me. When I’d talk about how I’d like to have a driver’s license  to go to things at night, like fireworks at the beach…You shouldn’t go alone.
Don’t go too far from the shore. Don’t even taste alcohol. It’s in your genes!

And the big joke was that I was worse than her. If I couldn’t find her in a store, I panicked. If she went out alone, which was rare, I’d warn her to lock her doors and be careful. I was sure she’d die in a car accident. On the rare occasions I went over to a friend’s house overnight, I’d call twice . If she dropped me off for a day somewhere, I’d call to make sure she got home. My greatest obsession was my mom.
I miss her advice. I miss her always on my side. But I’m also glad to be free. Free from her worries, free from mine over her.
I’d give back my liberty though to be with her again , but it’d be nice if we could’ve been less dependent on each other the next time around.